“He has been hiding me in New York,” she replied, firmly, and with flashing eyes.
“In New York?” he said, politely; “you have not the air of a city girl.”
“I have been in New York,” she replied, stubbornly.
“What part of it?”
She had never been in the metropolis of the Empire State in her life, but she possessed a song celebrating the charms of a certain portion of it, and she answered, unhesitatingly, “The Bowery.”
Her would-be relative was no better informed than herself. He was a genuine cockney; so he asked another question, this one accompanied by his stealthy and habitual sneer: “I suppose you have been told nothing about me?”
“Yes, ever so many things,” she answered, unblushingly.
He looked doubtful, and asked, slowly: “Who has brought you up?”
“Some people called Jones,” said Nina, glibly.
“What station in life did they occupy?”